


of dreams and memories

by Gemini_Baby



Series: January Prompt Event 2021 [8]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: (all the relationships are only implied), Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne - Freeform, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne - Freeform, Dick Grayson & Donna Troy - Freeform, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd - Freeform, Dick Grayson & John Grayson - Freeform, Dick Grayson & Mary Grayson - Freeform, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson/Catalina Flores - Freeform, Dick Grayson/Miriam Delgado, Dissociation, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Dick Grayson, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Introspection, Longing For Home, Nightwing Volume 2 Issue 093, Non-Linear Narrative, Pre-New 52, implied panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28774593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemini_Baby/pseuds/Gemini_Baby
Summary: He dreams.He dreams of the food his parents would make.He dreams of savoury aromas, vibrant colours and rich textures.He dreams.And the bland dishes, the empty space around him, the smell of burnt food, everything is edible. Because when he eats, he dreams of those memories.He dreams of happy memories.His face usually ends up feeling damp, cheeks wet and throat dry by the time the dream finishes. When the dream doesn’t continue. And the reality kicks back in.When he stops dreaming, the food no longer looks appealing.No longer able to be digested for the time, the leftover goes in the fridge. The dishes in the sink.He leaves the dishes there.
Series: January Prompt Event 2021 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087832
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: Bat Family 18+ Discord Server January Prompt Event





	of dreams and memories

**Author's Note:**

> Fills today's prompt, "Dreams"
> 
> Thank you so much Lore (ooLoreoo) for the beta help and polishing this <3 <3

Dreams.

Sometimes he dreams with his eyes closed.

But the times  _ he  _ remembers the most about his dreams are the times he spends dreaming while he is awake. Supposed to be awake.

Technicalities. Loopholes. 

The dreams of those moments pretend to be nice. Nothing is  _ nice _ about those moments actually.

The honey slips down his throat as he swallows the poison and savours the sweet taste of his imagination.

So. He dreams.

Different things.

Some things that were.

Some things that have never been.

It’s nice to cling to something; whether from his imagination or from his memories, or from the past. Especially, when everything tangible from the present, the here and now, is slipping away.

So he dreams.

Different things. At different times.

He dreams.

He dreams of the food his parents would make.

He dreams of savoury aromas, vibrant colours and rich textures.

He dreams.

And the bland dishes, the empty space around him, the smell of burnt food, everything is edible. Because when he eats, he dreams of those memories.

He dreams of happy memories.

His face usually ends up feeling damp, cheeks wet and throat dry by the time the dream finishes. When the dream doesn’t continue. And the reality kicks back in.

When he stops dreaming, the food no longer looks appealing.

No longer able to be digested for the time, the leftover goes in the fridge. The dishes in the sink.

He leaves the dishes there.

  
  


He dreams.

He dreams of his parents flying into the air.

Two coffins in front of him, falling into the ground.

He dreams of his parents; living, lively and cheerful.

He tries to not dwell on the feeling of his heart sinking.

He longs for his family.

He longs.

He dreams of his family.

Two people who make up his whole world.

His whole world now rests under six feet of the ground.

He dreams of his family as he tries not to think about how he abhors walking on the ground that traps them.

  
  
  


He dreams.

He dreams of his father swinging him in the air.

The stone mocks him. A family member. Not a family member. But still someone he cared about.

He dreams of his cackles and giggles as his father swings him in the air.

The heart hammering in his chest is too loud.

The giggles in his dreams are louder.

He dreams of contentment.

That’s what stops him from giving in to his rage and pummeling his brother’s murderer into the ground.

  
  


He dreams.

He dreams of his mother combing her fingers through his hair.

In this moment, his hair is being cut.

A distant part of him in the present wants to feel nauseous. Though that part doesn’t have a reason for that reaction.  _ Yet. _ Another part whispers. 

The distant part of him lost in the memories desperately clings to the fragrance of the oil his mother would use in his hair. It clings itself to the feeling of those fingers massaging the oil in his hair.

All he remembers and lives right now is his family’s tradition of oiling hair.

He misses his hair being cared for by those he loves.

He just almost missed noticing getting a new hairstyle.

He doesn’t regret missing it.

He regrets feeling nauseous all over instead.

  
  
  


He dreams.

He dreams of all the genuine smiles he has gotten over the years.

He dreams of the friends he has made.

He dreams of all the people he has ever loved, of all the people he has cared about.

He dreams.

He tries to curb the surge of feelings and act rationally instead as the monster - how can he call this thing a monster and judge when he is also a monster - in front of him threatens to destroy everyone he has ever loved, to ruin everything he has cared about. Again.

  
  
  


He dreams.

He dreams of trusting. Of being trusted.

He dreams of their friendship.

He dreams of them all being side by side.

He dreams when the feelings of hurt and betrayal are too much.

He dreams when he is accused.

He dreams as he tries to shove down his thoughts.

How is it that even when it is his fault, he still feels like the victim?

He dreams when no one takes his side.

He dreams.

He wishes he could dream of all this being just a dream. One he could wake up from when the sun rises.

His dream doesn’t end.

His wish doesn’t get fulfilled.

He doesn’t wake up.

He’s already awake.

It’s all real.

He finds himself dreaming again soon.

  
  
  


He dreams.

He dreams of being picked up.

He dreams of fingers brushing through his hair.

He dreams of a hand on his shoulder.

He dreams of a hesitant pat on his shoulder.

He dreams of being hugged.

He tries not to vomit.

Or maybe he does try to vomit this time.

It doesn’t work.

His body betrays him; in every way.

He hates it.

Not more than he hates himself.

It’s raining.

His face is wet.

He dreams he is a raindrop sliding down into the drain.

That sounds good.

Right now anything sounds good.

Right now anything....anything would be better than  _ this. _

The body above him pins him down, keeping him there.

The weight on his shoulders and the feeling of blood in his hands don’t let him get up.

Something twists in his guts.

Something eats away at him.

Something claws inside him.

He thinks whatever it is, it is not going to find anything.

For Dick is all empty inside. Nothing left. And no longer feeling.

His fingers minutely twitch but he’s stuck where he is. How he is.

He asks.

He tells.

He refuses.

He pleads.

The rain is loud but his heart hammering in his chest is deafening.

The thoughts in his head are too much.

His question-statement-refusal-plea-everything falls onto deaf ears.

His screams, cries, and groans of pain don’t even reach his own ears.

He dreams.

It passes.

  
  


He dreams.

He dreams of flying on the trapeze.

He dreams.

He dreams as he falls into the deep ends of the pits that he no longer wants to come back from.

He dreams.

He dreams of his best friend leaning on his shoulder.

In front of him, Donna’s casket is lowered.

He dreams.

He dreams of all the things Bruce has said.

He dreams of all the things Bruce had said.

He dreams of all the things Bruce did.

He dreams of all the rare smiles Bruce had cracked at him,  _ because of him,  _ for him.

He dreams of all the times Bruce squeezed his shoulder.

He dreams of all the times the man held him close when Dick didn’t even want to be around himself..

He dreams of everything about Bruce and of Bruce.

He dreams of everything from Bruce that had been directed at him.

He dreams of everything from Bruce that had been for him.

He blinks his eyes.

He dreams as he processes the fact that he has lost a father.

He tries to hold himself together even as everyone he knows scatters. As everything in front of him and inside of him is in shambles.

He longs to be an autumn leaf right now. Like the ones in the manor grounds. He wants to be that glass bowl which he accidentally dropped last night.

In his heart, he craves brokenness. He wants to be visibly and undeniably shattered. He doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

Everyone has other plans.

No one seems to care that he is still mourning his father.

He dreams.

He dreams of all the things he and Bruce did. Back when it was just them.

He dreams of his childhood.

He dreams of the lessons he learnt along the way.

He dreams.

He dreams of one day not having to dream anymore.

He dreams of the sound of his mother humming.

He dreams of the sound of his father laughing.

He dreams of the animals roaring.

He dreams of the crowd cheering.

He dreams of the soft voices directed at him.

He tries to not take the harsh jabs and criticizing statements of the boy in front of him, personally.

At least Dick can dream of things. He can long for them because he has been loved. He has known tenderness and warmth.

The boy doesn’t have anything to long for.

If Dick doesn’t do this right, the boy would never be able to look back on memories and moments and know he was loved.

He can do this for him.

He will do this for him.

Doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Doesn’t mean he will ever like it.

He dreams.

He dreams of the time he spends with the kid.

He dreams of the time the kid told him,  _ “I already have a friend” _ .

He lets the kid’s voice wash over him and tries to ignore the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces.

He dreams of the kid moving on. Dreams of him having a connection with more than one person in his life.

He dreams even as a part of him is being ripped away and tears him up inside.

He dreams.

He dreams of one day waking up from all these dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, comments, bookmarks and user subscriptions are always welcome and appreciated <3


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